Dr Kazinski
In a drunken state of deep despair, I think about Dr Kazinski at his practise in the East End. I think about his posters, torn and wrinkled, showing white picket-fence families eating carrots like rabbits, caring for teeth like all families should. That was a long time ago. Now in the absence of regular dental visits,
Poor Hygiene
Fridge handle or front door, or maybe the button on the stereo. Poor hygiene and now the affliction of it. “Can you get some milk on your way back,” Frank asks shamelessly, both hands on the games console. Maybe it was on the Wii? Microscopic in egg form, they hide in every unseen corner, waiting